Ungodly Beasts
by campnesscubed
Summary: England. Australia. Antarctica. Three people open three watches and are reminded of the times in the TARDIS they'd forgotten. And it's just in time. The Dark Cathedral is heading for Earth, filled with a horde of Weeping Angels. And this time, they have a leader.
1. Chapter 1: Remembrance

Chapter 1: Remembrance

Eve Glysson gasped delightedly as she waved a wand over the top hat, causing a beautiful white dove to emerge from it and flutter into the magician's hands. She giggled as the audience applauded the 5 year-old's feat, and turned to face the magician. She liked him. He was old and young, clever but funny, patient, kind and wonderfully good at magic. She decided to put her dreams of becoming a princess on hold for a while. She wanted to be just like him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the mystical, brilliant Eve" the magician exclaimed joyously. He gave Eve a signal to curtsey, which she did, and then she ran off stage back to her mother, who pulled her up onto her chair and whispered congratulations.

The applause died down as the magician gently took hold of the dove. His long and slender fingers, encapsulating the attention of the audience entirely, stroked the pure white feathers. Then, quickly yet elegantly, he flicked them outwards, flourishing his hands. When they drew back, the dove was gone. A mist of tiny glitter floated down from the spot of the vanishing, and the magician cupped his hands full of it, clenched them up, and put his lips to them. He opened his hands as he blew, sending the mist outwards, and leaving a single red rose on his left palm.

The audience went crazy – applause, laughter, whooping – the small theatre erupted into a cacophony of joyful noise. It seemed, to the magician, that though he didn't have the skills to change the world, he was remarkably adept at making his own little universe happy. He bowed once, twice, thrice – then he put on his hat in one fluid movement and tapped his cane on the stage. The magician walked offstage to the sounds of excited murmuring and yet more clapping. It felt good to cheer up other people.

He walked across the mish-mash of props backstage until he reached his dressing room. A tune popped into his head – he whistled it while he opened the door and strode across to his mirror.

His name was John Smith. He'd been a magician at the BW theatre for about 2 years now. He gazed at his appearance, which as ever mildly troubled him, for no real reason. Longish hair, boyish face, an especially large forehead and sharp cheekbones. John's eyes always struck him as rather sorrowful, as if to serve a reminder of a dark past – a past that John didn't have at all. His attire, featuring as it did a top hat, bow tie, tailcoat and spats, made him seem like a rather chirpy Victorian madman. He liked it. It was a good, eccentric look.

He frowned at the tune he had been whistling. It sounded like Beethoven – it must be, surely, because there was no denying the signature style. But it didn't sound like any piece of classical music he'd ever heard. Maybe he was just mixing tunes together. A pulsing headache started in the deepest corners of his brain and he groaned. He put his hat and bow tie on the table.

He needed to know the time, that was his current issue. The BW had apparently no working clocks anywhere in it – a quick glance at the broken timepiece on his wall told John that it was still eternally quarter to 5. He frowned as he fumbled through his cupboards and drawers for a watch. His search appeared to be in vain. His frown deepened as he realised he needed to know the time if he wanted to prepare for the next show in time.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a golden glint from the bottom of his discarded top hat. That was unusual – he didn't remember anything being in it except for the dove. He gingerly picked up the object of his curiosity and saw that it was a golden pocket watch. The pounding in his head grew harder. Clutching his temples with one hand, the other brushed the surface of the timepiece. It was gold and lustrous, and seemed to be old. Having said that, it still regained a somewhat mysterious glint. It was engraved with a nonsensical design – a lot of circles interconnecting with one another. Though his head was seized by a throbbing pain, John Smith flicked open the watch's lid.

If any human happened to be walking past the BW, they would have seen a sudden flash of golden light from one of the side windows, lasting for half a minute then disappearing.

If they'd waited another 5 minutes, they would have seen a Victorian madman in a top hat rush out of the Bad Wolf theatre, and mischievously run into the waiting night.

_10 minutes earlier_

The research centre stood alone in the icy wilderness. A dull, grey slab of reinforced concrete, it was the only landmark of any sort to be seen around the icy wilderness. A glance in any direction confirmed that up to the horizon, in all directions there was endless whiteness. Not that it was easy to see in this horrendous weather. An icy blizzard raged around the building, howling at the world as if some great cosmic injustice had exiled it to this barren place. This frozen desert.

The research centre was called Centre 7, but was fondly known by its residents as The Last Centurion, as it was the last of 7 research centres designed to study the wildlife of Antarctica. All 6 of the others had been abandoned and demolished now – once the work was done, it had to go. However, the scientists at Centre 7 were determined to keep running the centre, and fiercely believed that Antarctic research was never-ending.

If you were still scanning the horizon, you would suddenly spot a small black dot emerging from afar.

This dot, as it approached, revealed itself as a small snowmobile, grey and blue. It ran smoothly across the icy surface, and in quick time reached the front of the centre. A small garage door opened, and the snowmobile entered, parking itself. The door closed, leaving the Last Centurion, as ever, a faceless guard.

A woman got out of the vehicle and pulled off her helmet. She had long ginger hair, wide eyes, and a pretty, lively face. Her name was Helen Morris and she was a new researcher at the station. Well, new enough. In an area of science this specialised, 'new' for her meant about 2 years. She shook off her boots, revealing sensibly thick socks underneath. Not bothering to put on shoes, she opened a door and strode down the corridor to her living quarters.

Almost as soon as she entered, her phone, which was lying on her bunk, rang. The chirpy sounds of Cee-Lo Green's Forget You filled the room. Perching on her mattress, Helen answered it.

"Hello?"

"Only two more days!" a cheerful voice sang down the line. Helen grinned to herself. It was Andrew, her husband, calling from their home in Australia. The two days he referred to was the time until she came back home for her summer holiday.

"Morning handsome," Helen replied in a voice layered with Scottish warmth, "you been keeping busy without me?" She knew the answer, they phoned each other every day.

"Just about! I've been cleaning out the attic, actually. Thought I should get some stuff sorted out in time for you to get back."

Helen was suddenly overcome with emotion. Ridiculously, she felt a bit teary when he said something as mundane as that. She supposed it was a combination of missing him and gratitude. He didn't have to do these things for her, but he did. He was the perfect husband in her eyes.

"You're too sweet to me. And I can't wait to come home and see you."

"I can't wait either. It's been what, 4 months, since we last saw each other? I don't know how I've coped." There was a pause and the noise of rummaging came down the line "Helen...I've just found a gold pocket watch tucked behind some old cushions. I thought I'd given it to you when you left."

She frowned, and unzipped her snow suit slightly. Her hand reached for the object she'd been carrying round her neck everyday as a reminder of Andrew. A gold pocket watch. The one he'd given her on her last day in Australia. The one he was describing now.

"You did give it to me...I'm holding it now."

A pause from the other end. "This one looks identical. Maybe they're a pair? It was so long ago that we got them...I can't remember when we bought them."

Helen tried to cast her mind back to the time they'd acquired them. Her head started to hurt, a throbbing pain that echoes through her skull.

Andrew spoke again. "It's a mystery, I suppose. Here, I'll open this one to see if it needs a clean."

Helen was still staring at her watch – she felt as if she was seeing it for the very first time. The golden shine, the mysterious circle engravings, they drew her in.

Very definitely, one thought immediately entered her mind. _I need to look at the time_. And with that thought firmly in place, she opened the lid of the watch.

The next 30 seconds was a flash. As she stared at the face of the watch, a golden light seemed to burn at her suddenly, piercing into her inner mind. Her brain exploded with a series of images.

**_angels daleks silurians TARDIS rory amelia river pandorica silence doctor Doctor DOCTOR_**

She collapsed on the bed, still clutching the phone to her ear. From the other end, a terrified voice came.

"Helen, are you still there? Helen I don't know...something's happened...I'm..."

"We forgot." She was suddenly aware that she was crying, hot tears spilling down her freckled face. "How did we forget, Rory?" It had been 2 years since she'd used his real name. It felt comfortable on her tongue.

"Rory...you said...Oh my God, Amy!" A sense of wonder entered his tone.

Amy could do nothing but cry and repeat the same words over and over again.

"We forgot everything Rory. We forgot."


	2. Chapter 2: Conversation with a Caretaker

**Thank you very much for your reviews - this is my first story so it's nice to feel like I can write mildly well. Couple of things: Firstly, this story may take a while to get going. The first chapter was just a neat idea I had - it'll take a while to replug the plot holes! Secondly, there will be no Rose. Bad Wolf...well, wait till Chapter 3. It's a mundane explanation. I like to put in some, so to speak, _Easter Eggs_ in my work - 'Forget You' was one. Thirdly - I created a new character, because WHY THE HELL NOT? He doesn't get much of a mention here. But if people like him I'll definitely bring him back.**

**I've attempted to make this chapter more amusing and lighthearted - it is, after all, the Eleventh Doctor!**

**Finally, please review! It gives me a lot of inspiration to write more quickly.**

Chapter 2: Conversations with a Caretaker

The Doctor, still clad in his tails and top hat, strolled down a leafy suburb of London in a manner that could only be described as jaunty. He swung his hand out of habit, though his cane was still lying, discarded, in the theatre which he had merrily abandoned not half an hour ago.

He reached the peeling black paint that coated the front gate of Number 47, Sphinx Road. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he pushed it open and walked along the front path to the doorway of an inconspicuous-looking house. He knocked on the red door three times loudly, and stood back on the step with a huge grin on his face.

The door opened to reveal The Caretaker. He was an elderly man with white hair that sprouted from underneath a worn flat cap. He had a small white beard, and a huge white moustache. He moved slowly and methodically, betraying his age, but his blue eyes darted around at light-speed, dancing with a boyish enthusiasm that he and the Doctor shared.

"Caretaker! I haven't seen you for absolutely ages!" The Doctor was obviously delighted to see his old friend again, and gave him a hug. The Caretaker smiled gruffly, hugging him back. The Doctor drew back and his brow furrowed as he tried to remember. "The last time I saw you was that business with the monkey! Good times, 'ey?" The Caretaker frowned, his face showing a distinct lack of recognition.

"Well, the last time I saw you, Doctor, was when you brought that blasted Singing Sword with you. What's this about monkeys?"

"Oh, erm, don't worry, it hasn't exactly happened yet. But, erm, whilst we're discussing it, do remember to buy some raisins. They'll come in useful."

The Caretaker did what he always did when the Doctor went off on a tangent – ignored him. He gestured to a path leading round to the back garden. "She's in the usual place. Two years, this time. Where have you been? She's been making all sorts of odd noises," he continued, leading the Doctor round the side passage, "no doubt missing you. Still though, I fixed her up right and proper."

He paused halfway down the path. "I'll leave you to get reacquainted, shall I?" He started to walk back to his front door, then turned back; "Oh and Doctor? It's good to see you, but you've never been gone so long before. Something's coming, isn't it? Something bad. Doctor, will I be safe here?"

The Doctor gave him a faint smile. "I trust this house more than Fort Knox. I give you my word that you'll be safe."

The Caretaker, seemingly satisfied, walked away, not noticing the frown that rapidly grew on his companion's face.

The Doctor pressed on through the back garden, and into a small pathway covered in ivy. Pushing the startlingly green leaves away from his face, he fought through the plant valiantly, and eventually tumbled to the floor while batting away an offending stem. Looking up, he realised he was at the shed.

He got to his feet, and pushed open the sturdy wooden door. Inside, dust filled the air, accompanied by the smell of wood shavings and old paint. Tools, wire, and other miscellaneous garden implements lay scattered across the old floorboards. The light that streamed in through the shed door still left the back of the shed in darkness. But poking out of the gloom was unmistakeably the bottom of a large, blue box.

"Hello sexy," The Doctor whispered fondly into the darkness, "I've been missing you."

At the sound of his voice, the doors of the TARDIS swung open enthusiastically. From inside, the console hummed a sound that was very much content. Warm air flooded into the musty gloom, and the Doctor's face was lit up by a golden glow. The blue box was welcoming the madman home. He ran through the double doors, pirouetting at the console, reunited with his oldest friend. He pressed a few buttons, a couple of levers, and waved his hand over what appeared to be a blend of typewriter and cactus. Beaming like a toddler on Christmas day, he rested his hand caringly on the centre of the TARDIS – the glowing, moving pillar that was the heart the Doctor had captured. Suddenly, the doors slammed shut, and the TARDIS jolted as it set off with more than a hint of glee.

"Easy girl! Where are you taking me now, then? The last time you set off without my input, we landed in a fish market in the North of Clom. NOT an experience I want to remember." The Doctor listened very carefully to the sounds of the engine – after 900 years of cohabitation, he could understand the subtle nuances of her motors perfectly. "Aha...going to meet some friends, are we? I know exactly where we're going. And I will get punched. You'll enjoy it, won't you?" The TARDIS jolted again, causing the Doctor to spin around, a chaotic mix of limbs.

"No need to go out, they'll come in themselves."

Exactly on cue, the doors flung open to reveal a glowering Amy Pond, striding towards the Doctor with steely determination. Behind her was Rory, jogging to keep up with a look that practically screamed "My wife is in a bad mood. Stay away."

The Doctor turned towards his Scottish companion with a look of joy. "Amy! Long time no-" His words were cut off by a fist to the face. Staggering, he steadied himself on the console and looked sheepishly at a protruding stethoscope. "I knew that was coming", he murmured reproachfully, and stood back up to greet the husband. "Rory! You'll give me a h-" He was interrupted a second time as Rory hit him with a blow that sent him headfirst into the display screen.

"That was unexpected" he muttered to his ship. Standing upright and dusting his tails down, he turned and faced the stony-faced couple. Amy stepped forward. Rory tried to stop her, fearful of another attack, but she brushed away his hand and stared at the Doctor.

"You need to explain everything," she said slowly, her voice betraying a bitter undertone. "because I've lost two years of my life, two years with no memories of you or any of this." She gestured around her. "And you didn't tell us why."

The Doctor's face sunk into a look of sad weariness. "Yes. I need to explain this all." His features lit up.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of us going to a tearoom?" he beamed.


	3. Chapter 3: Tea and Truth

**Hello! Sorry this has been a while coming, but I have had exams and whatnot. And I'm also sorry that this is a short one, but it clears up some issues and prepares the reader for the story to leave Laboured Introduction Mode to Action Adventure Sexycool Mode. Chapter 4 should be up soon afterwards too!**

**As always, reviews have been lovely, so please continue them, as this is my first story! (plus i'm doing GCSEs right now so Rule 1 says you have to be nice to me).**

Chapter 3: Tea and Truth

Amy and Rory lived in a town in Australia that was originally a French colony – over the decades it had grown from a small gathering to a busy, vibrant place that buzzed with life. Despite the international origin, there was still a very Australian feel to it – hot sun, friendly people, abundant nature, and endlessly flowing cold drinks. The town was called Lafillqui, in the borough of Ondey.

The centre square was awash with gorgeous greenery – life bloomed from every corner, inviting the soft coolness of spring dew and leafy shade. Through the midst of the foliage, a small, inconspicuous tearoom offered simple treats and a break from the burning sun above.

It was in this very tearoom that The Oncoming Storm had discovered the joys of a Jammie Dodger.

"I cannot believe that in my 900 years of travelling through time and space, breaching the edges of the universe and being present at the start of all things, nobody has ever thought to offer me such a wondrous biscuit!" The Doctor enthused as he savoured the sticky centre of his new finding. "Everyone seems to just offer me custard creams. What is it about me that suggests I like custard creams? Is it the chin?" He looked round at his companions, who wisely gave no response, and continued; "And then there are ginger nuts," he said, his face darkening, "which just remind me of the hair I cannot have."

Amy politely cleared her throat, and gently asked "Doctor, I know you've ordered a plate of biscuits the size of Alaska, but you were meant to be telling us why we had to hide."

Rory interjected, "Yes, and without telling us."

The Doctor looked at them with genuine sadness in his eyes. "But...I did tell you. I would never force this upon you. I told you, but you've forgotten. In the aftermath of a huge memory regain, the human brain often can't recall the events immediately before the memory loss." He paused to look at his friends, who nodded slowly. "You trusted me, I promise. You agreed to live as a normal couple for two years, because you knew what was at stake. The human race."

He relaxed back into his chair to tell a story. "We were in the TARDIS. We'd just witnessed the 500th Rite of Kings for the Giant Turtles of Aquesse. Emperor Thay, heir to the throne, hatched on the Golden Sands, and left to re-enter the sea. It was beautiful. And so much more beautiful now, in contrast to the message I got when we got back. It was flashing on the console. A warning from the Judoon who guard the edges of the Milky Way."

Amy slowly touched her forehead. "I remember. The fear, oh the fear. I remember it flashing over and over again as we stared at it...it said..."

Rory finished her sentence grimly. "It said: The Angels have boarded the Dark Cathedral. Prepare Earth, they are coming to convert."

A silence hung in the air as the three travellers let the meaning of those words sink in once more.

The Doctor continued quietly. "When you want to convert a whole planet, you don't send one or two missionaries. You send a community. You send an army. And the Weeping Angels were about two years away from Earth, travelling fast, an army of them. There was only one solution."

He reached into his endless pockets and pulled out a battered photograph. It showed a perfect circle, jet black, resting on a wooden table. The Doctor gazed at it and carried on with his speech.

"The Heathen's Sphere. Solidified in the heart of a newborn sun, and the only thing in the universe guaranteed to kill a Weeping Angel. You know that they feed on time energy, don't you? Well this weapon contains Anti-Time. It's a substance which even Time Lords don't truly understand, but the simple facts are that if time energy makes an angel stronger..."

Amy's face cleared as she understood. "Then Anti-Time energy makes them weaker."

The Doctor nodded. "And this sphere contains an entire galaxy's worth of the stuff, impossibly condensed. And the best thing is that just as humans are not affected by time energy, the power of this won't affect them either. But the Angels? They will crumble."

The mood seemed to improve as an element of hope was brought into the conversation. But Rory, still confused, asked, "But how does this relate to us losing our memories?"

The Doctor clapped his hands together. "Aha! I was just about to get onto it. Obviously, the sphere can't be ready to use all the time – one mistake could destroy countless civilisations. So it needs to be activated. This happens in two stages. Firstly, you physically apply time energy to this. I did this exactly two years ago by touching the sphere." He winced – the encounter had evidently been painful. "Then, you need to leave it for as long as possible, so the power can build up. A maximum of 5 years. We only had 2 before the invasion."

Amy butted in. "Yes, yes, but why couldn't we have travelled back in time and placed the sphere on Earth 5 years before now? And also, that doesn't explain why we had to hide!"

"The sphere was only brought to Earth two years ago. I ordered it to be made myself after the last time they came to this planet. We couldn't bring it forward or backward in time – Anti-Time in a time machine? The Universe would rip in two. And as for the hiding, this brings us to the second stage in activating the sphere."

He paused for breath. "The sphere needs a huge release of time energy to hit it, much more than the first stage. The amount of time energy needed can only be produced in two ways. Firstly, by the TARDIS exploding."

"And that went so brilliantly last time" mused Rory.

"Exactly. The only other way is for a person to suddenly release time energy they had locked inside them. For me, the energy is in my biology – I had to become human. For you two, the energy is in your memories. You had to forget everything about your lives."

Amy and Rory looked at each other. They remembered, they remembered everything. But the Doctor paid them no attention, and he swept the photo back into his pocket. With a couple of seconds of rummaging, he pulled out a pencil and a small world map, and spread it on the table, scattering biscuits everywhere.

"Amy, you were in Antarctica, at the Last Centurion." He put a dot on the map at the place he had just spoken of. "I was at The Bad Wolf theatre, in England." Another dot. "And Rory, you were here, in Australia. In Lafillqui. At Ondey. Lafillqui at Ondey. Or, "La fille qui attendait". The Girl Who Waited." His final dot went on the map, and he joined them up with the pencil to form a triangle. "So we have 3 different bursts of time energy, spreading out over the surface of the Earth. And where do they overlap?" He put his final dot in the centre of the triangle. "Madagascar."

He looked up, sat back, and grinned at Amy and Rory. "The Heathen's Sphere is in Madagascar."

Rory didn't say anything, but stared open-mouthed at the Doctor, impressed. Amy showed her appreciation of the subtlety of the plan by punching the Doctor's arm fondly.

"So where exactly in Madagascar is this sphere? And how do we retrieve it?" she enquired.

"The Sphere is in a health spa," the Doctor told them, "and getting it? This is where we have to plan an audacious robbery."

Rory and Amy sighed.

"What? Audacious robberies are fun!"

Rory, who had grown quite attached to the peaceful life of Australia, groaned and put his head in his hands.


End file.
